


Fading to Dust: #2

by devilswreckedchewtoy (AmberFyre)



Series: giveaway fics and drabbles and RP prompts [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, but I'll warn for it, i dunno if this counts as graphic violence, i guess??, tumblr rp prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 23:38:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15982928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmberFyre/pseuds/devilswreckedchewtoy
Summary: Written for the prompt: Send me ‘Fading to Dust’ for my muse's reaction to watching yours die right in front of them.





	Fading to Dust: #2

**Author's Note:**

> Written for damnsella (formerly elladeclassified) on tumblr circa 2014. Unbeta'd so any mistakes are my own. As per usual, I own nothing but the story. Originally posted on tumblr.

Ever since Sam had learned that Ella had made a demon deal, he’d known they only had so much time.  Unless he could manage to break the damn thing he was going to lose her.  It was something she hadn’t wanted him to attempt, but he’d done it anyway.  After all, he and Dean had managed it before.  He knew he could do it, even if he had to wade through the blood of multiple Crossroads demons.  Because though he’d tried to keep his heart in check, he’d never managed to succeed before, and Ella had crept in and woven her way there, whether she had tried or not.  He’d had to give up on that as a lost cause and deal with reality.

Both of them had their own tragic histories, had spent more time lying about their lives to people around them than ever telling the truth.  And yet they had somehow managed to work through that.  Two broken people who had come together to find each other despite the pain in their pasts and the craziness of their presents.  Somehow they’d managed to find a way to fit into each other’s broken and jagged edges.  And if they both had wounds from it, they both considered it worth the pain.

Which was why this moment, something right out of his nightmares, had caught him unawares ( _why did he think he’d be allowed to be happy, even briefly? He was a fucking Winchester and carried a curse in his blood._ ).  He’d always worried that, knowing he was a marked man, that some creature, some monster, some demon, would learn about his attachment to Ella and use it against him.  But he’d hoped it wouldn’t happen.  Ella wasn’t stupid, had experience dodging danger and supernatural baddies.

But both of them were only human.  And even the best efforts sometimes weren’t enough.

Returning to her place after his last hunt, ( _and how had they ended up spending so much time at her place?  How had that become where they had both felt safest together?  Why had he tried?_ ) he had walked in on a scene that he knew would haunt him straight through to the end of his days.

Maybe if it hadn’t been a vampire, the lone survivor of a nest Sam thought he managed to eradicate, more concerned with revenge and hurting Sam, he’d have had a chance to bargain, reason, plead his way out of this situation.  Instead, he’d walked into the living room ( _when had she made him his own key?  Why couldn’t he recall the moment now?  Such a little detail that seemed so important_ ) completely unsuspecting, having only enough time for his eyes to register the vamp standing there with a hand around Ella’s throat, preventing the slightest sound from escaping.

Time slowed, telescoped.  Time for his eyes to widen, to reach for a weapon but so slow, too slow.  Time to register the words, “You took what meant most to me, Winchester.  Now I return the favor.”  Time to feel cold rage sweep through him, and icy fear right underneath it as he realized he was too slow, far too slow.  Time to watch in slow motion as the vamp ripped her throat out in front of him, to watch the blood spray across the room, little droplets seeming to hover in the air.  Time to hear a voice yell out, “No!  ELLA!” and for it to sink in that it was his own voice uttering the words.

And then suddenly everything snapped into focus, time resuming its normal flow as Ella fell, and he rushed forward, a surge of strength born of adrenaline and fear and rage, to destroy the thing that had just destroyed the little happiness he’d allowed himself to feel.  Barely a pause to check for death before he was turning, kneeling, grabbing Ella and holding her, watching the light die in her eyes.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.  Too soon, too fast.  It wasn’t supposed to be a damn vamp who only wanted to hurt him who took her away from him.  The rage collapsed like a bridge suddenly bereft of its supports, leaving him floundering in keen edge grief.

"Ella," he whispered, brushing her hair away from her face and trying to ignore the ruin of her throat, the blood that stained everything around him.  A broken whisper, full of regret and longing and pain.  He gathered her body to him as the wave of grief crested and broke over him, hoarse sobs dragged from the depths of his soul.

No, it wasn’t supposed to end like this.  But what else should one expect when one was a Winchester?


End file.
